Being sick is sort of like running in that it’s all about maintaining functionality through discomfort. Yeah, one minute it’s cold, and then I’m sweating… and I feel like a little monster is living in my gut with a “make Vanessa feel nauseous” button and then a “make Vanessa feel achey” lever, but sitting here, in the moment, I’m quite content. There’s really nothing that awful about illness.
I lucked out today in that my professor woke up with a migraine and canceled class, although I was already on main West and sitting through a class wouldn’t have been so bad. I passed out on some comfy chairs in the BC until the world had stopped spinning enough for me to drive back to my apartment, and then I got to sleep more.
But warm broth, when it finally stayed down, tasted really good, and there is something wonderful about lying in bed with sun rays coming in. I did some work, made the trek to fetch my finished laundry, and just sat down when a wave of anything came over me. I may have some nasty stomach virus, but given that I don’t need to move very much, that life is pleasant in the present moment, it feels more like an adventure, a deviation from the norm, than anything bad.
So why such a negative stigma? I think that sickness does have its awful moments, for example praising the porcelain goddess is an awful awful feeling. I think those bad moments are probably what stick with us when we recall being sick, and not the other 99% of the time when we were just, being, and being wasn’t so bad. I’m not saying that I would choose being chronically sick over good health, but like many things, I think that different experiences make life interesting, and that it just depends on how you choose to look at them.